Your Eyes Are Like Starlight
by WickedForGood13
Summary: In the aftermath of several Yuletide parties, Frodo conspires to keep Sam by his side for the night.
1. Chapter 1

Frodo closed the door with a sigh, pausing to rest his head against the cool wood. He had just seen the last of his Yule-party guests off: his excitable cousins Merry and Pippin. While he enjoyed their company - they did much to liven up the peaceful life he led in Bag End - the quiet that followed their departure was equally as desirable. It had been a long year, Frodo reflected as he turned to press his back against the door and slid down to the ground. Following Uncle Bilbo's disappearance and his own coming of age, in the past few months Frodo had taken on many of the duties that came with being the master of Bag End, responsibilities that had previously been ignored in favor of gallivanting across one end of the Shire to the next.

"Mister Frodo, sir?" came a quiet voice from up above him. Frodo opened his eyes to regard Sam, his gardener and best friend, who was standing a few paces away with his hands clasped behind his back while shifting from foot to foot.

"What is it, Sam?" he asked, smiling gently at the younger hobbit. Sam had been a blessing to him in the wake of Bilbo's departure, practically moving in to Bag End to look after Frodo and see that he was taking care of himself.

"Do you want me to wash the dishes now or wait until morning?" Sam's voice jolted Frodo from his memories.

"Leave them," he said, scrambling to his feet and extending one of his hands. Sam stared at it uncomprehendingly. "Will you join me by the fire, Sam? It's such a cold night out, and the snow makes for a very pretty picture. I'd like to share a few moments of peace with you."

"That's very kind of you, sir," Sam started to say, "And I appreciate the gesture. But I really should be getting home now. The Gaffer will be expecting me."

"Of course," Frodo replied, and he could feel his face fall. "It's just... I didn't want to be alone. And the snow's coming down so hard... I'm sure your Gaffer would understand if you spent a little more time here, at least until the snow clears up."

Sam was torn: on the one hand, he had a duty to his beloved master - Frodo clearly required some company - yet he greatly desired to see his family. In the end, though, attending to Frodo's needs won. Not that electing to stay with Frodo was such a great sacrifice; the elder hobbit was Sam's friend, as well as his master, and Sam enjoyed spending time with him. In a daring move, he reached for Frodo's hand, which had fallen to his side at Sam's initial rejection.

"I'd be glad to stay, sir... if you really want me to, that is," he whispered, and was overjoyed to see Frodo's face light up like the stars in heaven. Sam beamed back at his master and let Frodo lead the way into the parlor.

"Here," said Frodo, gesturing for Sam to sit in the armchair by the fire and holding out a blanket to wrap himself in once he was settled.

"But, sir..." Sam started to protest.

"Shh," Frodo held a single finger up against Sam's lips to silence him. "Please, Sam - for tonight, at least, I am simply Frodo. And I've asked you, as my friend - not my servant - to keep me company."

Sam's shoulders slumped, and he acquiesced to Frodo's request, taking a seat in the comfortable armchair and allowing for Frodo to tuck the edges of the blanket around him. Frodo left the room for a moment, and when he returned, he was carrying two steaming mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate. He handed one to Sam before settling himself on the floor at Sam's feet.

"Sir..." Sam opened his mouth to object to Frodo's chosen seat. It wasn't right for the master to lower himself to a mere servant. The floor was Sam's place; Mister Frodo belonged in the chair that Sam had usurped from him.

A hand on Sam's knee silenced any further protestations. "Please, Sam - not tonight," Frodo begged. "Tomorrow, we can go back to normal: you as my servant and me as your master. But for tonight - just this once, at least - let _me_ serve _you_."

Sam reached out with one hand and began to stroke Frodo's ebony curls. "As you wish," Sam whispered.

Frodo patted Sam's knee and craned his head around to smile at him. "Thank you, my friend," he replied.

They fell into silence after that, contentedly sipping at their hot chocolate as they watched the snow fall in the lane outside the window. The moon shone on the whitened ground while candlelight flickered from the tree in the corner, throwing into sharp relief the bows, garlands and other Yuletide decorations that Frodo and Sam had placed around the smial.

"It was a good Yule, wasn't it?" asked Sam at last.

"Yes, Sam," said Frodo. "It was. And thanks, in large part, to _your_ efforts."

"Mine, sir?" asked Sam, bewildered.

"This was my first Yule without Bilbo," Frodo began, softly but intently. "Yet you never let me dwell on what I had lost. Rather, you forced me to acknowledge my many blessings - chiefly which has been you, my dear Sam."

"Me, sir?" Sam squeaked.

"Yes - you," said Frodo, setting down his cup and rising to his knees before turning to face Sam. Placing his hands on either side of Sam, he leaned in close so that they were staring directly in each other's eyes. "I take you and your service for granted, Sam," he went on, bowing his head momentarily in shame. "But this Yule has made me appreciate you all the more. Thank you." He leaned further in so that their faces were now almost touching.

"Frodo..." Sam whispered. He felt trapped by Frodo's proximity; he couldn't even move his arms or legs. But he wouldn't have traded his position for all the pipe-weed in the Shire.

"Is this alright?" asked Frodo, overcome by a sudden bout of insecurity. He didn't want to do anything that would upset Sam, nor did he want Sam to feel obligated to respond to his advances simply because he was Frodo's servant. Sam found that any words he might have spoken were frozen in his throat; all he could do was nod. Apparently, that was enough encouragement for Frodo to close the distance between them and gently brush their lips together.

Although Sam would never admit it - certainly not to Frodo - he had fantasized about this moment many times, wondering what it would be like to kiss his master. Sam could now attest to the fact that reality was much better than his dreams. Frodo's lips were soft against his own, which were slightly chapped from working long days in the garden and going without proper lubrication. Frodo's caress was hardly demanding, yet Sam felt compelled to respond with equal passion. Frodo's arms wrapped around Sam's back and pulled him forwards until he was kneeling on the ground level with Frodo, while the blanket was tangled up between their bodies.

"I don't want you to marry Rosie," whispered Frodo, pulling away only to bury his head in the crook of Sam's neck so that his voice was muffled.

"I don't want to marry her either, Frodo," said Sam, his brow furrowing in confusion as he puzzled over the notion that Mister Frodo seemed to have fixed in his head. "Where'd you get an idea like that, begging your pardon?"

"You've seemed partial to her for a while now," said Frodo, drawing back and sliding his hands up and down Sam's braces while refusing to meet his gaze. "And then you danced with her at Bilbo's party. At my own insistence, I know -" he hastened to add when he sensed that Sam might object to the way he had phrased that particular statement. "But you didn't seem to mind, and I thought it was only a matter of time before you settled down with her and started to raise a family of your own - a family that I can't provide you with."

"No offense, Frodo, but that's just silly," said Sam, cupping Frodo's chin in one hand and slowly raising his face so that their eyes were level. "A family don't matter none to me. _You_ are the only family I could ever ask for - or want, for that matter. I love you, Frodo, if it's not too bold for me to say so."

"I love you, too, Sam," said Frodo, stroking the smooth sun-kissed skin of Sam's cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling tenderly at him all the while. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's forehead, before trailing kisses down either side of his face and across the bridge of his nose; Frodo even paused to kiss Sam's fluttering eyelashes. Finally, though, he arrived at Sam's lips, which were left rosy and swollen from being kissed so thoroughly.

Sam raised his hands to frame Frodo's face, brushing away a stray curl in the meantime and dabbing at Frodo's eyes that were glistening with unshed tears at a previously-unrequited love suddenly being realized. He paused to just take in the love radiating from his master's - no, his _lover's_ eyes, and felt an uprising of tenderness swell in his breast for this most exquisite of hobbits. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together again, his first time initiating contact since Frodo had confessed his love with a kiss.

"I want you, Frodo," he whispered, breathing heavily from the excitement building within him. "I-I need you - _please_."

"As you wish, my dear Sam," said Frodo with a grin as he briefly pecked Sam's lips before pulling out the forgotten blanket from between their bodies and spreading it in front of the fireplace. Reaching over and around Sam's head, he grabbed a few cushions from the chair and threw those down on top of the blanket - for their comfort, as he explained to Sam.

Taking Sam's hands in his, Frodo shuffled backwards until there was enough space for him to lay Sam down on the ground. He hovered over the excited hobbit, simply taking the time to stare into Sam's eyes and memorize this moment and how it felt to know that he was loved by Sam and that he was about to make love to Sam. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Sam's and took that opportunity to enjoy the pleasurable thrill that went down his spine at the first instant when their clothed erections brushed together. Sam gasped, and his eyes shot open at the strange new sensations assaulting his body; but Frodo merely soothed him with whispered reassurances and a gentle touch to his flushed cheeks.

"Everything's alright, Sam," said Frodo. "We don't have to do anything more than just lie here - if that's what you want."

"No, no - I want to go all the way with you," Sam hastened to assure him. "It's just... I've never done anything like this before - not even with a lass - and I'm scared of disappointing you."

"Oh, Sam," sighed Frodo before bending his head down to bestow a sweet and tender kiss on Sam's plump lips. "You could never disappoint me; I love you just the way you are. But I'm glad to hear that I'll be your first."

"And my last," Sam stated firmly. "There's no one in all of Middle-earth can compare to you, Frodo. And there won't be anyone else for me - not ever."

At Sam's declaration, Frodo kissed him hard on the mouth, crushing their lips together almost desperately. When he pulled away, both hobbits were breathing heavily from the force of the kiss.

"For so long, I thought that it was my fate to remain a bachelor," said Frodo, who was speaking against Sam's neck, having collapsed on top of his sturdy body. "I thought I'd live and die alone. But _now_, Sam... now, you've given me hope for my future - one that I see myself sharing with you."

"I'd like that, Frodo," Sam replied, smiling as if he could see the future that Frodo was talking about. "I'd like that very much."

"Good, I'm glad," said Frodo, squeezing Sam's shoulder and pressing a kiss to his neck. "We'll make it happen, Samwise Gamgee - I promise you."

Frodo now rolled on top of Sam again, slowly undoing the buttons of his work shirt and kissing each spot that he exposed, until Sam was practically writhing underneath him, bucking his hips and coming close to unseating Frodo. Latching on to Sam's wrists, Frodo pinned his hands up above his head and stared intently into his eyes.

"If I let go, can you be still?" he asked. Sam nodded frantically, and Frodo was inclined to believe him. "Good; I need to release your braces. Can you take off your shirt when I'm done?" Again, Sam nodded, and Frodo freed his wrists.

Working together, the two hobbits hurriedly shed their upper garments, each helping the other to undress. Finally, Sam lay back down, Frodo on top of him; and they were both nearly undone at the feeling of bare skin pressed against bare skin for the first time.

"Sam..." Frodo gasped as he fingered the coarse hair coating Sam's chest that was brushing against his own hairless chest. Though a somewhat experienced lover, he had never felt this strongly for any other hobbit before - and he wanted more. Whatever this encounter with Sam turned in to, Frodo wanted it to last.

"Frodo..." Sam returned his master's delighted gasp as he felt heat pool in his belly and shoot straight to his groin, further enlarging his already-excited member, which was pressing against the front of his trousers and poking determinedly into Frodo's hip.

Snaking a hand down between their bodies, Frodo fumbled with the laces to his and Sam's breeches, which were tangled together due to their close proximity. His hands trembled from nerves, and he froze in place the moment he felt Sam tense up.

"Is this alright?" he asked worriedly.

In response, Sam merely shifted his hips slightly so that their erections were more directly aligned; in this position, Frodo was unable to deny Sam's invested interest.

"I'll hurry it up, then, shall I?" asked Frodo with a wry grin, pausing to briefly kiss Sam on the lips before returning to his task. In short order, Frodo had their laces undone and both of their breeches were bunched around their knees. Frodo kicked his off before helping Sam to remove his. He then sat back to admire Sam, who was spread out before him like a picnic: his for the taking; all he had to do was pick and choose.

But Frodo wasn't that crude. He valued Sam; he worshipped him; he adored him. He would go to the ends of Middle-earth to ensure Sam's safety. Crawling forward on his hands and knees until he was once more perched over Sam, Frodo proceeded to ravish his mouth before peppering kisses all over his body. When Sam attempted to return the favor, Frodo withdrew, restraining Sam and stilling his own movements.

"Tonight is about _your_ pleasure, dearest Sam, not mine," Frodo whispered softly, and Sam had no choice but to submit to his lover's relentless assault that left his body in the throes of passion without relief.

Frodo reached blindly for one of the many cubbyholes situated around the fireplace, one of which contained a vial of oil that Frodo had made use of on several occasions, though only when Bilbo had been out of the smial, most often visiting Elves and occasionally Dwarves. His hand once more returned to Sam's line of sight, and Sam could see what Frodo had been reaching for. He held Frodo's hand in his and brought his wrist to his lips, kissing the delicate appendage as though it might break.

"I know I'm not your first," he whispered, "And that don't matter to me - not really. I'm just happy to have you in any way that I can for as long as you'll have me."

"There will never be another for me, Sam," whispered Frodo. "No one but you will ever hold my heart so completely enraptured. It's you I have loved all along, and it's you I will continue to love for the rest of my existence."

"Oh, Frodo," Sam sighed, smiling shyly up at the waif-like creature balanced above him. Raising his arms to wrap them around Frodo, he held the other hobbit close to his breast, cradling Frodo's head in the crook of his neck as he kissed the elder hobbit's brow. "I love you," he whispered, his breath tickling the sensitive earlobe and sending shivers down Frodo's spine.

Holding the vial of oil aloft, Frodo inclined his head as though asking a question, to which Sam nodded eagerly. Frodo poured a small amount of the oil into his palm, spreading it evenly before lowering his oil-slickened hands to Sam's body. Sam shivered when he first felt the oil trickle down his thighs - and then one of Frodo's fingers was at his entrance and Sam forgot all about the oil. Frodo was very gentle with him, slowly easing his index finger inside up to the first knuckle until Sam had grown accustomed to the intrusion, and then sliding his finger further up and further in. Sam gasped in pleasure and wriggled with delight as he tried to take more of Frodo inside him. Frodo just laughed, his eyes sparkling merrily in the firelight, and inserted another finger and another until he was convinced that Sam could easily accept his entire length.

Withdrawing his fingers from Sam's pliant body, Frodo once more coated his palm in oil and began to stroke his own arousal, leaving himself on the brink of release. Sam was watching him with avid interest, his lips slightly parted as he stared openly at his master's considerable length - perhaps not as thick as his own, Sam thought, but Frodo was still well-endowed. At that moment, though, Frodo happened to look up, and Sam blushed at being caught staring. He tried to turn away, but Frodo wouldn't let him, instead tilting his flushed face forwards again and smiling tenderly at him. It had been a while since he had made love to someone as innocent and inexperienced as Sam, but he still remembered the nervousness and uncertainty he had felt _his_ first time, and the care his partner had taken to treasure him and treat him as though he mattered.

"It's alright," he whispered reassuringly as he brushed a stray curl out of Sam's face. "You're safe with me. I'll take care of you."

Sam didn't respond, but his eyes spoke of his implicit trust as he guided Frodo's head down to connect their lips, accepting Frodo's tongue into his mouth as readily as he had accepted Frodo's fingers into his body.

"Keep going, me-dear," he said when they finally drew apart to breathe. "I'm ready."

Nodding once, Frodo glanced down briefly to align his shaft with Sam's entrance. Slowly, ever-so slowly, he eased himself inside, taking his time since the length that Sam would be accepting was a bit more substantial than his fingers. Sam's breath hitched; despite the foreknowledge he had possessed, he was nonetheless unprepared for the sudden pain that accompanied his penetration by Frodo. He could feel his heart rate increase and the blood pump through his veins as he fought every instinct that told him to reject the foreign object currently working its way up his arse. But then he looked at Frodo's angelic face, and all was right with his world. Frodo was looking intently at him, concern evident in his eyes, but Sam simply forced his lips to curve upwards, forming a smile that did little to reassure Frodo. So Sam kissed him instead. At that moment, Frodo brushed against Sam's prostate - and Sam saw stars, bigger and brighter than any of Gandalf's fireworks. He moaned aloud. Frodo seemed to sense what had occurred, as he proceeded to aim for that particular spot again and again, while at the same time stroking Sam's straining erection with an expert twist of his wrist and leaving behind a glistening trail of oil.

"Master Frodo..." Sam gasped seconds before achieving his release, riding wave after wave of passion in a spectacular release that coated both of their bellies, in addition to Frodo's hand.

Frodo followed soon after, spilling his seed within Sam before collapsing on top of the sturdy hobbit, his energy having been completely spent. "That was amazing," he whispered, planting a kiss at the base of Sam's throat. "Now that I've had a taste of loving you, I don't think I ever want to stop."

"I have to go home eventually, Frodo," Sam pointed out to him.

"Why?" asked Frodo petulantly, raising his head slightly to look into Sam's eyes. "Why not move in to Bag End with me? You practically live here, anyway. This would make our relationship official _and_ shoot down any rumors that hobbits like the Sackville-Bagginses might start about you and me. Then we'd be free to do as we please; we could make love at any time of the night or day, and no one would be the wiser... not that it makes any difference to me, you understand, if we were discovered. I love you, and I don't care if the whole of the Middle-earth knows it."

"You really mean that, Frodo?" asked Sam in disbelief. "I'm not just another one of your 'conquests,' then?"

"Sweet Eru - no!" exclaimed Frodo. "You are more precious to me than Smaug's entire horde of treasure, Samwise Gamgee. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, loving each other and being the best of friends. However you want me, Sam, I'm yours."

"Then I want you forever, Master Frodo," Sam whispered softly, raising a hand to reverently brush a curl from out of Frodo's face. "Will you be mine?"

"Only if you'll be mine," Frodo replied. By now, he had unsheathed himself from Sam, though he remained balanced above the younger hobbit, bare skin pressed against bare skin.

"I guess that's that, then," said Sam, using his considerable strength to shift Frodo off of him, yet keeping him nestled in the safety of his arms. Frodo gladly acquiesced, snuggling as close as he possibly could into Sam's side and letting Sam's warmth envelope him as he rested his head on Sam's shoulder.

"Love you, Sam," he murmured quietly, the haze of sleep already stealing over him.

"I love you, too, Frodo," said Sam, pressing a kiss to the top of Frodo's head before briefly resting his cheek in the same spot, then pulling one of the spare blankets over their naked bodies as he thought about how they would both be in desperate need of a bath the next day.

* * *

Sometime later that night, when the fire was nothing more than a pile of dying embers, Sam awoke to a disturbance nearby. Frodo was struggling against some invisible foe in his sleep, limbs flailing wildly about as he whimpered, tears leaking down his pale cheeks from behind closed eyelids. A brief glance outside the parlor window revealed that it was pitch-black, though Sam could make out the faint outline of snow falling softly on the ground.

"Frodo," Sam called, shaking him slightly, but to no avail. Carefully, he crawled on top of Frodo and pinned his wrists in place, then shook him with a bit more force. Frodo's eyes snapped open at that, darting from side to side before settling on Sam.

"Sam," he cried, surging upwards and wrapping his arms securely around Sam's neck, clinging to him desperately.

Sam just held him tightly as he laid them both back down. Frodo continued to tremble and shake within the confines of his arms for quite some time, before his motions eventually stilled and Sam could feel the tension drain from his body.

"It was so dark... and cold... and I was all alone," said Frodo at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm here; I'll always be here," Sam murmured reassuringly as he continued to stroke Frodo's hair with one hand and rub his back with the other. "Your Sam won't let any harm come to you - I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually, the darkness that Frodo had dreamed of on that long-ago winter's eve came to pass, though not in the way that either Sam or Frodo himself had imagined was possible. Seventeen years since that first Yule the two hobbits had spent together - and Sauron was defeated; Middle-earth was saved; and the ruffians had been routed from Hobbiton. All was well for the inhabitants of the Shire, who were preparing to celebrate their first Yule as free hobbits. All except for Frodo, that is.

Frodo stood in nothing but his dark blue dressing gown, staring out the window of his room in the Cottons' humble abode, and watching as the snow fell softly to blanket the bare ground. It was the first night of Yule, and Frodo had just returned from _The Green Dragon_, where Sam had sworn that half of Hobbiton was gathered. He had excused himself early, claiming that he was fatigued, while Sam, ever the dutiful servant, had followed most willingly, despite Frodo's urgings that he remain to enjoy the celebrations.

"After all, Sam, why should you tend to me when you could be among friends, enjoying each other's company?" he had asked, attempting to sound jovial when all he really wanted was to crawl into bed with Sam and pull the covers over their heads, shutting out the rest of the world.

"Yours is the only company I crave, begging your pardon, sir," Sam had replied. Although they had been lovers for close to twenty years, Frodo had yet to convince Sam to forgo the honorific.

Sam now entered the room with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, just as they had shared on their first Yule together. "I thought you might like some refreshment, Mister Frodo," he said quietly.

Forcing himself to turn from the window, Frodo regarded his faithful friend. The Quest had taken its toll on Sam - his prominent belly was now a shadow of what it had been, having wasted away to practically nothing as a result of giving his share of food to Frodo - just as it had on them all. Although Sam had tried to hide his deteriorating condition from him, Frodo had nonetheless seen and had silently wept for Sam's suffering. And though Sam continued to smile at him, his eyes had lost their spark. In short, Sam was broken - and it was all Frodo's fault. If only he had put his furry foot down and insisted that Sam remain in the Shire, even going so far as to order him to stay home had all else failed...

"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo, his voice barely above a whisper.

If Sam was broken, then Frodo was numb, having lost his will to live. With the destruction of the Ring, Frodo's good sense had been returned, and with that, his memories of all that he had done under the Ring's influence, most notable of which was his treatment of Sam. Now, he could barely meet Sam's gaze, recalling with crystal clarity how he had held his Sam at sword point, the haze of the Ring clouding his judgment. There were countless other instances in which Frodo had mistreated Sam, moments in time that Frodo would rather forget. Yet his guilty conscience would not let him. Nor would Sam allow for Frodo to pay for his mistakes in any way. It was enough to make Frodo want to cry, if only he could summon the tears.

Sam moved to stand beside his master, yet he wasn't pressed as closely to Frodo's side as he would have been before their adventures. They had not made love since leaving the Shire, but Frodo intended to rectify that _and_ to make up for his gross mistreatment of Sam, thus killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

The two hobbits stood in silence for many minutes, sipping at their cocoa while watching the snow fall outside. It made for a pretty picture, but Frodo saw no beauty in the scene before him, only the biting cold that he imagined still pierced his skin as the Morgul-blade had. He shivered, setting aside his cup before his trembling limbs could spill the liquid or shatter the crockery.

"Sam, I want to feel you inside me; I want to _hurt_," he said, speaking plainly so that Sam could not mistake his meaning. "Will you make love to me?"

Having made his request, Frodo undid the sash to his dressing gown, revealing that he wore nothing beneath; he was as naked as the day he was born. Throwing the robe aside, he turned his back on Sam and bent over the edge of the bed, presenting his bare arse for Sam to pound into. Although Frodo would hardly be considered a masochist, he could not suppress a shiver of excitement as he imagined the delicious burn that would accompany his penetration by Sam.

When Frodo first disrobed, Sam's mouth had fallen open in shock. He had forgotten how beautiful his lover's body was. Not even the strain of their journey could disguise Frodo's fair figure that would surely make the Valar themselves weep. Then Frodo's words had registered, and Sam was horrified. Why would his master wish for pain when he was now safely in the Shire? Or was this another attempt to assuage his guilt for his cruelty while on the Quest? Sam certainly didn't blame Frodo for his treatment of him; he knew that was the Ring's fault, not Frodo's.

Stooping low to the ground, Sam picked up the discarded robe and approached Frodo, who appeared to be wiggling in anticipation of what was to come. Sam closed his eyes, attempting to will his body to ignore the tantalizing sight of Frodo bent over, all his for the taking. Sam shook himself, knowing that what Frodo needed was to talk and share what he was feeling, not to be taken from behind, rutting together like animals. Having reached his master, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of his skin, Sam bent over and pressed his lips to the base of Frodo's spine, slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the nape of Frodo's neck. He then draped the robe over his exposed body, deftly tying the sash in front of Frodo, all while refraining from pressing against his back so as to keep his own body's present condition a secret. The sight of a naked Frodo bent over as he was would drive anyone crazy. Yet Frodo's own body remained unresponsive, and Sam knew then that this wasn't what Frodo truly wanted, nor was it what he _needed_.

At Sam's actions, Frodo had turned around to face Sam, who immediately sank to his knees and bowed his head. "Master, please," he begged, close to sobbing. "Don't make me do this. I couldn't hurt you to save my own life, not when I love you as much as I do."

Frodo captured Sam's hands in his, kissing the knuckles softly, and raised him to his feet again. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was selfish to ask such a thing of you. You are too pure and good to needlessly cause pain. Forgive me, please."

"There is nothing to forgive, Frodo," Sam replied. "I was made for service - yours, especially - and I will serve you until my dying day, obeying all your commands... except for this. You are both my master and my lover, and to hurt you is abhorrent to my very being. Do not ask this of me, I beg you."

Frodo drew Sam into his arms then, and they embraced, Frodo burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck and weeping in shame for what he had asked Sam to do. And he had no doubt that Sam would have eventually complied. Despite his words to the contrary, Sam was an attentive lover, neglecting his own needs in favor of seeing that Frodo was satisfied, and he would have given in to Frodo's brazen request. He held Sam tightly and gripped Sam's braces in an attempt to ground himself in the present, rather than dwell in the past as he had been wont to do as of late.

"Come on, me-dear," Sam urged him, guiding Frodo towards the bed and settling him on top of the coverlet, before moving behind the elder hobbit and taking him in his arms. "Come and sit here with me, and we'll talk."

"What about?" asked Frodo weakly, trying to bluff his way out of a conversation that he didn't think he was ready for.

"You haven't been the same since we got back," Sam began hesitantly. Even after all these years of being treated as an equal, he still doubted his right to point out Frodo's flaws to him. "And I'd like to know why. Won't you share with me; confide in me like you used to?"

Frodo slumped back against the younger hobbit who had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. Turning within the confines of Sam's arms, he began to cry uncontrollably into Sam's shoulder, further staining his shirt with tears. Sam did nothing to stop him, merely patting his back comfortingly while stroking his hair and whispering soothing nonsense in his ear. Frodo's sobs eventually slowed to nothing more than the occasional hiccough before he went completely still, his body limp in Sam's arms.

"Frodo-love?" asked Sam softly, fearful of disturbing the peace that had settled over their room.

"I'm alright, Sam," came Frodo's reply, equally as soft. He reached up to cup Sam's cheek with one hand, drawing his head down to brush their lips together. He knew that he'd been distancing himself from Sam lately - ever since they'd been rescued from Mount Doom, in fact. But while he had thought himself to be acting in Sam's best interests, he had forgotten his own. What was he without Sam, after all? He was nothing, useless; he wouldn't even have succeeded in his mission had Sam not driven him on, carrying him up the mountain on his back when his own strength had failed him along with everything else. And at the height of his Ring-crazed delusions, Frodo had even forgotten his love for Sam. What excuse was there for his behavior, Ring or no?

"Of course you're alright," said Sam, tracing the contours of his lover's face with the utmost tenderness. "Just let it out, Frodo, and don't be afraid to fall. I'll catch you if you do, I promise."

Frodo leaned back against Sam once more, letting his head fall to rest against Sam's shoulder. Sam's hands were wrapped around Frodo's middle; Frodo sought out Sam's fingers with his, lacing them together and breathing a sigh of contentment that all was right with the world, at least in that one moment. They lay together in silence for many minutes, glad to forget their troubles for a little while and basking in each other's company. Unbeknownst to Sam, though, Frodo was steeling himself to speak and thus reveal himself completely to Sam, his closely-guarded secrets no longer his burden alone.

"I don't _feel_ anything anymore," he whispered at long last. "I'm numb inside, Sam. The Ring took so much out of me; I don't have any energy left. I'm tired all the time, and not just physically. I'm tired emotionally inside. I thought... if you were to make love to me, hard and fast, I might feel something again, even if it was pain. Throughout the Quest, the chain that the Ring was on would dig into my skin. It hurt, but I was relieved because the pain meant that I was still _me_. I could feel; I hadn't lost myself yet."

"Oh, Frodo..." Sam sighed, tightening his arms around Frodo's middle while burying his head in Frodo's ebony curls and breathing in his master's distinctive scent. "I wish I'd known! Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I was already enough of a burden," Frodo explained. "I didn't want to worry you further."

"You could never be a burden, love," Sam protested. "And as for worrying about you, I was already doing that, wasn't I?"

"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Sam's knuckles in an apology for having doubted his strength to bear Frodo's burdens as well as his own.

"There's more, isn't there?" asked Sam.

"Yes," Frodo replied, his voice so quiet that even though he was pressed close against Sam, the other hobbit had to lean forward until Frodo was speaking almost directly into his ear. "I wanted you to hurt me," admitted Frodo, "Because I felt it was your due for my treatment of you throughout our travels together."

"What?" exclaimed Sam, who was horrified that Frodo would ever actually wish for pain, much less at his own hands.

"Need I remind you that I held a sword to your neck?" Frodo remarked sharply. "I constantly snapped at you, and I called you a thief, even after all the trouble you had gone through to rescue me from Cirith Ungol."

"You wouldn't have needed rescuing had I not left you in Shelob's lair to be tortured by Orcs!" Sam retorted. "That cancels out all the rest, don't you think?"

"Not in the least, Sam," Frodo replied quietly. "I'm supposed to love you, yet I treated you like... like a servant - less than one, even. How can you bear my company after the things I've said and done to you?"

Frodo had always been a slender hobbit, often compared to an Elf; since his return from the Quest, he had become skin and bones, weighing practically less than nothing. Sam was thus easily able to turn Frodo around to face him, setting him in his lap while he gripped Frodo's arms to ensure that he couldn't escape before he'd had his say.

"I love you, Frodo Baggins," he said. "And I would be willing to bear much more than your company, which you apparently think should be disgusting to me, to keep you safe. Do you understand me?" Sam shook Frodo gently to emphasis what he was saying. "I love you," he whispered fiercely. "And nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever drive me away. Where you lead, I will _always_ follow."

Frodo collapsed against Sam's chest, sobbing in relief that he still had his Sam, despite all that he had put him through. "I don't deserve you," he managed to choke out through his tears. Sam scoffed but said nothing; instead, he began to rub Frodo's back and stroke his hair while whispering soothing words of nonsense in his ear. His Gaffer had always said that actions spoke louder than words - though Hamfast Gamgee had often called Sam a ninnyhammer, or worse, Sam never doubted that his father loved him, as evidence by the many evenings they had spent on the porch together smoking pipe-weed - and Sam intended to prove to Frodo that he wasn't going anywhere.

Time passed, and Sam eventually felt the tension drain from Frodo's body, indicating that he had fallen asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief that his dearest love had earned this brief reprieve, and hoped that if Frodo dreamed, they would be peaceful dreams of happy days in the Shire: reading amongst the trees; chasing Merry and Pippin through the corn fields with Sam running along behind, not truly feeling included, but nonetheless an integral part of their ragtag group of friends; evenings spent at _The Green Dragon_ sharing laughs over a pint of ale... Sam wished all these dreams and more for his Mister Frodo.

As Sam held Frodo in his arms, he thought. Most hobbits underestimated Sam's intelligence, viewing him as little more than a simple hobbit that only cared about gardening, while his love for Frodo, though unacknowledged, was a given. But Sam was more than that, so much more. Under Frodo's tutelage, he had flourished and could now read the Elvish language as easily as Frodo or Bilbo could. He thought long and hard about Frodo, and about what he had undergone for the greater good: that of saving Middle-earth. And as Sam held Frodo in his arms, he realized that their time together would eventually have to be cut short. Though Frodo might recover from his ordeal _physically_, his soul would never again be the same; having been touched by Dark magic, he would be forever tainted, unless he could obtain healing from somewhere besides Middle-earth. There were few options, and Sam knew then that Frodo would one day have to leave him to journey West with the Elves. His arms tightened like a vice around Frodo, as though he could keep the other hobbit with him that way. But Sam knew it was useless: Frodo would have to leave, and Sam would have to let him go. It was the only way, however much Sam might wish it were otherwise.

A few tears fell then, landing on top of Frodo's head to be absorbed by his ebony curls. Their parting would be bittersweet, Sam was sure, but by then, Frodo would surely know that his leaving was for the best. And, maybe, Sam could join him someday. After all, hadn't he been a Ring-bearer too, if only for a little while? Sam bent to press his lips to Frodo's forehead before trailing a path of kisses across his love's flushed cheeks, his freckled nose, and even his eyelids, which hid from Sam the iridescent blue of Frodo's eyes that could change hue depending on his master's mood.

Sam's ministrations seemed to rouse Frodo from slumber, as his eyes fluttered before opening fully, though they remained momentarily clouded with sleep as he hovered between drowsiness and wakefulness. His eyes felt swollen, but then he saw Sam, and he forgot any discomfort. He was being held close to Sam's chest, arms wound tight around his waist while his head rested above Sam's heart; the steady _thump-thump_ soothed his earlier worries that Sam would leave when he discovered how truly broken Frodo was. Straining a hand up to cup Sam's cheek, Frodo gently stroked the smooth skin with his thumb, before moving to tangle his fingers in Sam's irresistible chestnut curls.

"You're here; you're really here," he whispered hoarsely, pulling Sam's head down so that he could better kiss his plump, delectable lips.

"Of course I'm here, love," Sam replied. "I promised that I'd never leave, not unless you send me away."

"I love you," Frodo whispered over and over again, his lips ghosting repeatedly over Sam's skin as he kissed him with a desperate fervor that almost frightened Sam.

"What happened?" he asked, though he thought he might already know.

"I dreamed..." Frodo began, looking for words to describe what he had seen. "There was water... the sea, I think... and grey ships. There was music... singing; dancing; laughing - and Elves... many, many Elves. I don't know where I was, Sam, but it was beautiful. Yet, I still wasn't happy. There was someone missing, someone who was important - so, _so_ important - to me. I was running to and fro; Elves were calling to me, greeting me and entreating me to join them. The Fellowship was there, but even _they_ couldn't hold my interest."

"Why not?" inquired Sam. "Who were you looking for?"

"You, Sam," Frodo replied. "I was looking for _you_."

Sam started, Frodo's declaration having caught him off guard. What Frodo had described to him sounded a lot like the Undying Lands. Yet instead of finding healing and being at peace, Frodo was driven to distraction looking for _him_. While Sam had always loved Frodo more than his own life, he hadn't ever dared to imagine that Frodo's attachment to him was nearly as strong. Now Sam understood Frodo's words to him upon waking: _You're here_, he had said. _You're really here_. Frodo hadn't been happy because Sam - simple Sam, the gardener - hadn't been there with him. Frodo had always been Sam's strength, his reason to go on, especially during the Quest. Could it be that the same was true of Frodo himself? Was Sam _his_ strength, _his_ reason to go on? Sam felt his heart start to beat wildly in his chest, hope reigniting in his very soul.

"Dear Sam," Frodo's voice broke through his thoughts, and Sam was brought back to reality by the gentle touch of Frodo's hand on his cheek. "After all these years, do you still doubt your hold on me?"

"I never understood what you saw in me," Sam admitted, his face flushing from embarrassment. "I've always been just simple Sam, your gardener. What could the likes of you want with me?"

"Yes, you're mine," Frodo whispered, his eyes burning with an intensity that Sam had not seen for quite some time. "But you've never been _just_ my gardener, nor are you simple. You're the most complex hobbit I know. How can you be content with tending to Bag End and me - and doing nothing else? Answer me that, if you will."

"There's no greater pleasure in all of Middle-earth than serving you, Frodo," replied Sam. "I want nothing else; I ask for nothing else. All I desire is to do your bidding."

"But does serving me make you happy?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, very," Sam whispered, raising Frodo's hand to his mouth and kissing the knuckles in reply.

"You asked what the likes of me could want with you," said Frodo. "I don't think you realize, dear Sam, how much you've done for me or the many ways in which you have saved me time and time again. When I first came to Bag End, I was... depressed, to say the least. I had just lost my parents; I was leaving behind my cousins, whom I had grown very fond of and become quite close with; I was moving in with an uncle that I barely knew. I had every reason to give up. But there had recently been a birth in Hobbiton, just down the lane from Bag End - _your_ birth, Sam. I was... enchanted. The first time I held you, I fell in love. And as you grew, you became as enamored of me as I was of you."

"I must have been an awful bother, following you around as I did," said Sam, his tone self-deprecating. "I doubt I ever gave you a moment's peace."

"But that was precisely what I needed!" exclaimed Frodo. "I didn't want time to myself to think. Caring for you was the perfect outlet. And I didn't mind reading about Elves to you or listening to your endless chatter and questions. I found it refreshing. Truth be told, I was sad when you grew up, because it meant an end to all the fun and games. You took your role as my servant quite seriously, always calling me 'sir' and 'Mister Frodo' and even 'master.' I didn't want that. But it was only after Bilbo left that I decided to take a chance on securing your love for myself, even at the risk of losing your friendship forever."

"You could never have lost me, Frodo," Sam assured him. "Even had I not felt as you did, I would have remained loyal to you and been your friend until the end of time."

"For which I am glad," said Frodo, smiling tenderly up at Sam. He reached up to wind his arms around Sam's neck, but the other hobbit stilled his movements with a single glance.

"Tonight is about _your_ pleasure, my Frodo," he whispered, unconsciously echoing Frodo's earlier words from their first Yule spent together.

Frodo smiled in understanding, his entire body relaxing as he yielded to Sam, falling back against the pillows and spreading his legs in a wanton invitation for Sam to ravish him. The younger hobbit had become quite the experienced lover in the past seventeen years, and he knew to take his time, as that would drive Frodo wild. So he slowly began to undo the buttons of his shirt, sensuously sliding the braces down his arms until his chest was bare. Looking up, Sam was hard-pressed to contain a laugh at the sight of Frodo, eyes wide, with his lips parted and his tongue poking out in concentration as he watched Sam with avid interest. Deciding to put him out of his misery, Sam quickly shed his breeches and crawled forward until he was practically resting on top of Frodo, his erection hot and throbbing against Frodo's hip. Claiming Frodo's lips in an open-mouthed kiss, Sam felt himself fast losing control, and he hurried to divest Frodo of his dressing gown.

Now bared to each other, Sam took a moment to admire Frodo, as he had on that long-ago Yule's eve when Frodo had asked him to stay behind after his other party-guests had left so as to keep him company. Sam was forever grateful that he had obeyed his instincts and given in to Frodo's request. The past seventeen years had been the happiest that Sam could ever recall; even the Quest had not managed to dampen his enthusiasm when it came to loving Frodo.

Lowering his head to the base of Frodo's throat, where beat a steady pulse, Sam kissed the skin that had once been rubbed red-raw by the chain on which the Ring had hung. His hands brushed curls from out of Frodo's eyes, soothing his temple with a kiss before his lips once more drifted lower to caress Frodo's eyelids and nose and cheeks. Frodo moaned aloud, gasping breathlessly as Sam's expert touch drove him to the brink of his climax. His eyes had closed, but they now snapped open again to look into the fathomless depths of Sam's expressive green orbs as both forgot the world around them: only _they_ existed; only _they_ could understand the true significance of what they had shared and suffered, together.

"Sam..." whispered Frodo tenderly, his lover's name on his lips the only caress he could offer.

Sam descended, then, ravishing Frodo's mouth with his own in an earth-shattering kiss that left them both gasping desperately for air. Sam's fingers scrambled over Frodo's skin, pausing at the swell of his arse before drifting lower down to slide a single finger inside Frodo's puckered hole and carefully stretching him to ensure that he wouldn't feel pain when Sam finally breached the tight ring of muscle, seeing as they hadn't made love since leaving the Shire for Rivendell. Time didn't seem to have made any difference to either of them, though, as they quickly found their old rhythm, glorying in the familiarity of their union and the utter rightness they felt at being joined in this most intimate of acts. Frodo came first with a cry, his seed coating his wasted belly, while Sam followed shortly after, snapping his hips sharply against Frodo and leaning forward to bury his head in the juncture between Frodo's neck and shoulders as he keened loudly at the onslaught of emotion.

They lay entwined in the aftermath, panting, hearts racing as the enormity of their situation hit them full-force: they were _alive_; they had survived to live and love for another day. This was the reason they had been brought together: because one without the other was unimaginable, like losing half of one's consciousness. Sam knew, then, that their separation would be a trying time. But they would triumph in the end, as long as they had the promise of forever to tide them over until their next meeting.

"I love you, Frodo," he whispered as he settled himself next to the elder hobbit, taking Frodo in his arms and holding him close.

"I know, Sam," Frodo replied, with his heart in his eyes. "I love you, too."


End file.
